Slipping off the Edge
by HiddenAssasin
Summary: He stared into it, seeing his haunted reflection. Broken, hollow green eyes looked back at him. Black bags hanged from underneath his eyes. His hair messier than normal. A small scar trailing across his cheek. Mouth in a straight line. Face expressionless. He was truly alone.
1. Chapter 1

He sat there, on his bed mulling over thoughts, his pen in hand.

 _Riptide…_ the pen that had been by his side every single day, from the time he fought his first monster. It took him through battles, armed him in wars and saved lives.

And it was going to do it again.

Save lives—many, many lives. Of the gods, the demigods, the mortals that knew him, even his girlfriend.

He couldn't stop himself from slipping off the edge.

He sat on his bed, in Cabin 3 alone in the darkness of the night. A single window let the dim light of the moon shine through.

Silence was thick across the camp.

He clutched the pen tightly while he continued to idly twirl it around. He flicked the cap and out sprung the gleaming Celestial Bronze blade.

He stared into it, seeing his haunted reflection. Broken, hollow green eyes looked back at him. Black bags hanged from underneath his eyes. His hair messier than normal. A small scar trailing across his cheek. Mouth in a straight line. Face expressionless.

This was the face of someone who was useless.

Someone who could not save lives and was at fault for several people who had died—Zoë, Bianca, Beckendorf…

Someone who caused problems everywhere he went, who couldn't fix anything he started.

Someone who was not good enough to live, unable to protect the ones he loved.

He didn't deserve to live, he had let _so_ many people down. Every day, nightmares would tear at his sanity, hallucinations at what his mind perceived of reality and blackouts terrify his very soul.

What was he?

A lost, broken boy. Someone not worth saving. He was supposed to die a year ago.

His sea green eyes shut tightly, trying to stop the tears from coming out. He couldn't cry now.

 _It's all your fault…_

He clenched the handle of his blade, and curled up.

 _You let so many people die…_

A cry threatened to escape him…

 _Why are do you still live? You should be dead—you are always spared of death while others take your place…_

A sob racked his throat.

No one would ever hear his cries, his pitiful wallows in the shadows of his cabin. No one could see how lost he was, unable to find his way through his own mind.

He was _truly_ alone.

After the Giant War, everyone in the mythological world believed their hero came out unscathed other than a few cuts and injuries. Thanks to his forced smiles, positive words and happy attitude; it didn't take long for everything to be rebuilt and start to go back to usual.

Everyone was moving on, leaving him behind. They were healing—and they deserved it for everything they had done—while he couldn't even save a person, let alone the world.

He was deadweight. Everyone else did something amazing while he sat back, suffocating and growing in his own hell, plagued by depressing thoughts. Thoughts that were testing his sanity, his mind, his _willpower._

Another sob let loose from the teenager's lips, and tears flowed freely from his eyes. Curled up in a ball, he rocked back and forth. The loyal sword clattered to the floor, as the boy only cradled himself.

 _Alone._

He remembered every time he had tried to help people.

He put up a strong attitude, smiling face and outgoing aura; and it worked, people fell for it. He didn't matter, only the people around him did. He couldn't let the people near him get hurt because of him.

 _Better to help before I go..._

He remembered telling Piper how she was beautiful and not hideous nor fat, against the snarky insults she had heard. He held her while she cried, while she let out her bottled up emotions.

He remembered pushing the bullies away from his cousin, Nico Di Angelo. Telling them to never touch him again or there would be Hades. How his very _words_ made his cousin smile, and not set himself in guilt.

He remembered arguing to Leo that he wasn't dead weight to the team. How he had created a flying ship only he could do, or even flew a fire-breathing dragon. Something only _Leo_ could accomplish. That alone stopped the fire wielder from leaving camp for some alone time.

He remembered when Thalia went to his cabin one night to talk. And it led back to the sensitive topic of Luke. And in a second, Thalia's pent up feelings of anger, hatred and old love let loose. She couldn't hold it all in anymore; but all he had done was hold her close, like any family would do, and quietly listened to her and her sobs that wracked her body.

He remembered when Jason shared what was on his mind when he came back. He had felt guilty for leaving to catch up with the world, and had left both camps to Jason; but the green-eyed demigod sensed no resentment from the son of Jupiter. All his cousin did was talk about the pressure, how everyone relied on him and looked up to him as a leader, someone to follow. So he told him he shouldn't be holding it all, he should share the weight with him now that he was back.

 _Not like he was feeling the pressure of the world already…_

He fell back onto the bed. Sprawled out and helplessly crying himself through the guilt, the pain, the _hurt._ He had never felt so alone.

He remembered when Hazel shared her worst fears, her insecurities with him once he caught her about to harm herself. He was livid as he got the knife and snapped it in half without breaking a sweat. And then all those feelings disappeared when he saw the frightened look in the daughter of Pluto's eyes. The fear. And so he told her—that everything will be okay, that everything will get better, and to always hope.

 _Hope._

Such a meaningless word. It was something to follow when you had nothing, lost everything and had something to look forward to—death. It was an illusion, hope didn't exist, you could not hope.

Another war would come back, and hit you harder than the previous. The nightmares wouldn't relent. People around you would keep on dying. Guilt would always continue eating at your mind.

Nothing ever went how you had _hoped_ it would because you were at the Fates' mercy. Where they could make your life flourish in one second and as quickly destroy your entire life into ruins.

"Please…" the teenager whispered, heartbroken.

 _What did he even want anymore?_

He remembered when Frank came to him that day, and asked why him. Why did he choose him? Why did he stay by his side of all people? All the legacy saw in himself was a weak leader, that couldn't even fight properly. And the answer was simple. He saw something in his friend, something that was one of a century and that was his devoted benevolence to the world; his loyalty to family and continued kindness, even if he had his ups and downs.

And then he remembered the final person.

 _Annabeth._

The one person he wished to be in his arms right now.

He couldn't count the amount of times he had left his sleep—or skipped it altogether—to caress his girlfriend's hair, and coax her back to sleep. To soothe her with false hope, and whisper that her dreams weren't real. That he was real in the flesh and blood.

And he was finally tired of it all.

The fighting, the helping, the guilt—the stupidity of it all.

Was it even worth the lives he had saved, the lives that had been lost, only to reach such an ending? Where the demigods are lost in the cycle of fighting and being torn down by deaths around them; while the gods sat high and mighty on their thrones on Olympus.

They were still as arrogant as ever. Problems still persisted with the minor gods. The gods hadn't changed, they were as cruel as they were thousands of years ago.

 _Was it worth it anymore?_

Was it worth the lives of the campers who had sacrificed themselves for the gods, and those living suffering severe mental issues like PTSD?

It was too much. He had tried too much to keep his mind together. It was only so long before his sanity would crack and he would slip off the edge.

And that process was almost at its peak.

All he had ever wanted was a normal mortal life. If not that, a normal demigod life. Not to be thrown into wars.

Not watch as people he loved died, helpless to stop it.

Not feel the pressure of hundreds of people.

The guilt, the pain, the questions, the nightmares, it all plagued him and he could do nothing as it gnawed away at him.

And now, his end was near and he had accepted it.

The son of Poseidon sat up shakily on the edge of the bed. His sword was no longer on the floor and he took it out again from his pocket.

The moon was almost at its midpoint in the sky, ready to reach midnight, and signify the date of his birth.

All he wanted was someone right now, to show him they loved him. To show him they cared. To embrace him and promise him that they will never leave him. To tell him that everything will be okay.

 _Even if it was a lie..._

Because he had never felt so isolated, so deep in his own mind, so far away from everyone.

 _So alone…_

He just wanted someone to talk to him and sit by his side for once and put him to sleep. Be ready to listen to all of his problems and understand. Quietly hear what was going on in his mind and help him out of it.

Was it too much to ask for?

 _Too selfish?_

Maybe it was. He didn't want to put the pressure on his friends' and family's shoulders; so instead of sharing the problem…

 _...he would remove it completely._

He looked through the window. The moon was almost there. He heard hushed whispers outside of his cabin and the shuffling of some feet. He imagined that it was only some midnight campers or the harpies.

He put the pen on his chest, the tip aimed at his heart.

He would have a swift death but embrace any punishment that was fit for him in the Underworld. His hands trembled, and he didn't want to leave his family.

 _But why stay?_

He was doing nobody any good and he would soon become insane. He couldn't let his family see himself become that, he couldn't allow them to witness such a thing. He couldn't make them try and fix him—he was already too broken to be fixed.

 _No-one would be able to put together the broken pieces._

His body froze, and he flicked off the cap of his pen for the second time.

And in the next second, the whole world slowed down.

The inhabitant of Cabin 3 let out a silent gasp, still sat upright. His face showed no emotions as he embraced his death. His blade protruded from his back, blood trickling out.

Then the door opened, with a series of campers and demigods, and even mortals, swarming through. There were lights, cakes, smiles.

And then with each millisecond they were wiped off, and ruined.

The light from their saviour's eyes dimmed and became nonexistent. His final breath came out and his eyes lost all signs of life.

He had finally escaped the true torture of the world—life.

Everyone around him let out stunned gasps and were frozen in shock at what just happened.

Their leader, twice the Hero of Olympus, had done something no one ever thought he would do.

He had commit suicide.

His mother took a step forward, tears openly flowing out of her eyes. Her body trembled with every step and she fainted after one word, unable to comprehend it all.

" _Percy."_


	2. Chapter 2

_When will you do it?_

He questioned himself everyday, every moment—every living second when he would do the deed he had always wanted to do. The one thing he imagined of trying all the time, because it was _so_ simple.

 _Why are you escaping the inevitable?_

He didn't understand where these thoughts came from, and why they whispered such horrible things to him on a daily basis. He refused to submit to them, but with every moment, they seemed to strike at his sanity.

Every hit knocking down his mental defences with him struggling helplessly against it.

 _You chose this dark path long ago…_

He wasn't scared of the voice—why would he be? Two-time saviour of Olympus wouldn't be afraid of the voice; rather, he was scared of what it said to him.

 _Stop lying to yourself._

Or maybe he was afraid.

Why wouldn't he be? Every sentence it uttered changed the truth he believed in and filled his head with doubt and unwanted emotions he couldn't control.

 _All it takes is a pen and a click, the time's ticking…_

He could handle many things in life—the stress of leadership, the land of Tartarus, the brutality of the gods and the world of a demigod. It was daily now.

 _Fate can never be defied, finish the path you set foot on._

One thing he couldn't: his own mind. He was afraid of himself, yet he could never admit it. Every passing day wore down his mind, and it only would last so long before he slipped off the edge.

Off into the abyss of his own mind.

 _I promise you Perseus, you will achieve the peace…_

And it sounded so tempting, so soothing. So close.

 _...that you yearn for._

Though he knew he had to live; if not for himself, for the sake of his friends, Annabeth, family and the world. Who else would save the world right?

 _You know the pain will throw you down deep…_

It was always him. Him, him, him, him and him. He retrieved Zeus's Master Bolt, he fought Kronos, he defeated Gaea, he traversed Tartarus, he did _everything._

 _...into the realms of insanity._

And this voice served to enlighten him from the blinding loyalty he had. All this saving, all this happiness was for nothing. He was just a pawn of the bigger powers—another tool in the world. All he was needed for was to save the world day by day.

 _You only have one life, but what use is it like this?_

He was used and used and used until he couldn't be used anymore. Used until his mind had cracked, his body was fragile and his life was nothing.

 _Why do you question me?_

And then he would be thrown aside like dirt.

 _The world never changes. Never._

He tried to think of something to argue that there was hope in the world that something could change. But was there really? The gods still hadn't tried fulfilling their promises and humanity only seemed to fall lower into a world of darkness. His family couldn't even recognise his mind breaking nor him tearing himself apart—they were so ignorant.

 _Can you blame humanity?_

But ignorance is bliss, they say.

 _So leave while you can—by death._

When he realised who was he even talking to?

 _I am you, and you are me. We are one._

He couldn't help the empty chuckle that escaped his lips; had he already lost it? Had he already lost the game of the mind? His sanity?

 _It is your choice, you are the one to control your mind._

All he did was drop the covers over him and ignore the voice within him, and drift off to sleep slowly. Praying to any deity for a peaceful sleep.

Why was he so foolish and ignorant?

 _Why did you—_

His mind let out a scream and wails were heard in the background. Cries of a girl.

"Annabeth?"

He heard nothing.

"Annabeth? Where are you? _Please,_ tell me you are here somewhere Wise Girl?" Desperation seeped into his voice as he felt his throat tighten.

He was wandering blindly through a forest, sweating anxiously, until he stopped frozen.

That's when they were all scattered, littered limp over the ground. Eyes empty of life and bodies still.

He dropped to his knees.

 _I warned you._

He curled his fingers through his lover's hair. Blood stained every person present, limbs were strewn all around and glorious fires were lit around. He wanted to cry but the tears couldn't come out. He was too hollow to even feel anymore.

 _I truly did._

A piercing scream tore through the air. He sprinted to the source, the world changing around him. He discovered the most important person in his life standing there, the Minotaur huffing metres away outside of camp like his first day here.

"Mom!"

She gave him one look of helplessness. Desperation.

He tried—he truly did.

But he was already too late.

 _This could have all been avoided._

Before the blood splattered everywhere and the golden dust settled. His mom was in pieces, dark red staining the ground he walked on. A few strands of hair were what remained.

He didn't know whether to cry or to be strong.

 _This is only the beginning, dear friend._

He blinked and he was now in the middle of his living room in New York. What was going on? He didn't want to endure anymore of this agonising pain.

 _Be prepared._

He heard heavy breathing. Was it his own? His heart thumped heavily in his chest.

He didn't know anymore.

He walked through the house into another room when he discovered a little child.

 _With a barrel to the side of her head…_

She was his sister, he could feel it, she may not have been born yet, still in his mother's womb, but the connection was there. The same bond he once felt with his family and friends.

She was flanked by two men. He was silent, thinking of a plan to help her.

 _You've already lost, and we both know it._

He wanted to tell the voice to leave him alone, and that what it was saying was false. A lie.

Yet he couldn't.

She widened her baby blue eyes when she saw him and cried his name.

"Brother!"

 _Boom._

The bullet sped through her skull before he could even react. Crimson stained her brown wavy hair.

A straight hole was in her head and her eyes dimmed, body dropping soundlessly to the floor.

She was so young, so innocent. Why did it have to be her?

Something cracked inside him, eyes dimming to a murky green, and it only roared inhumanely within him.

 _It's the cost of living._

He felt a sense of anger and hatred stir inside him.

Why was it always him? Had he not done enough for the world already? Was saving it several times over not enough? Or risking his life to save everyone?

 _You can never do enough._

No matter how much he tried, his efforts were futile.

Maybe he should just kill everyone—there would be no problems again for years to come since even his enemies would be crushed by him.

 _It is the power of greed. Forever lasting and eternal._

This cycle of torment against him within his nightmares carried on endlessly, stabbing Percy's will repeatedly with each death, because of his _failure._

 _You should have trusted me and not have slept._

In reality, he was writhing in his bed, twisting and turning.

Sweat poured out like a waterfall and silent screams slipped out of his mouth, no-one able to hear him.

 _How can they truly be your friends and family…_

He knew what it was going to say, and he wanted to just ignore the voice. Push it away into the darkness of his own mind and squash it down like a monster, watching it beg for mercy.

But he couldn't ignore himself. The truth was only a moment away.

 _...if they do not see the suffering you are in?_

The very thought gnawed away at him. Why could they never see his pain? He could see through their façades and aid them with anything they needed. Was it too much to pray for?

He wanted to grab one of them and torture them until they gave him an answer. Why not take their life when he risked his to receive nothing in return?

 _Isn't that what friends are for, to help?_

All this time, his world had been a one way street, help and love only going one way and never the other.

 _Sadly with truth, comes pain._

Or maybe he was adapting to the pain, letting it control him as he acted better and better by the day. No-one noticed his suffering since maybe he became so good at covering it up.

 _Or they do not want to see what's truly within you…_

Maybe that's why they all avoided him like the plague; once following him and now leaving him. They didn't want to know what happened to him for their sake, their sanity and their own selfishness.

 _You seem to understand now._

They couldn't be bothered to ask him how his day was, if he enjoyed the food or whether he wanted to rest. What was the point of fighting for them anymore?

He could have been burned to ashes, withering in pain or whipped endlessly by his enemies and they would never notice his disappearance.

Never...

 _Humans are born to be selfish…_

He wanted to deny it, his loyalty coming out but his resentment overtook him.

… _you defy fate, is the reason you are not the same._

All he wanted to know was why they avoided him.

 _Embrace the darkness._

Was it his abnormal power and mood which struck fear into everyone? They didn't want to be on the end of his blade, blood gushing out of their mouth while their friends watched in horror?

 _Can you feel it?_

This power he held—a surge of demonic energy coursed through him and he silently screamed to the heavens.

 _It's coming._

He couldn't tell the difference between his dream and reality. Where was he anymore?

 _Nearing the abyss._

Anger, disgust and betrayal warped his very mind, changing it with each passing second.

 _You don't have much defence against it._

He wanted to tear off every limb of each demigod in the vicinity. Make them scream. Wither. Disappear.

 _We both know you would eventually submit..._

He grabbed his head and roared animalistically. Sweat slid off his forehead and he frantically swept his eyes over his room. He wanted to storm through Olympus, lopping off the head of every god he had ever known, and bathe in their blood.

 _..time was only ticking._

He imagined ruling the world, everyone beneath him. He would crush people's lives and leave their souls in a state of no repair. Kill everyone opposing him, crushing them into nothing while destroying every last bit of business upon the earth—immortal and mortal.

 _Are these thoughts good or bad?_

He wanted to have people worship him, treat him like God and blindly follow his every command.

His vision then turned into him slaughtering everything in his path with a gleeful and manic expression; blood drenching the very ground he fought on and screams being heard every moment.

And the worst part?

 _It does not even matter._

They were innocent mortals, his friends, his family and even the dirt of the planet.

And he was enjoying it all.

 _These thoughts were inevitable._

The power he held surged him to charge and end more innocent lives, this feeling of dominance and superiority motivated him to ruin the lives of more by killing their loved ones without mercy.

 _Because it's already too late._

A sword through the eye, a fist through the gut, a wave drowning many or feet crushing their very head were ways he caused destruction and massacre.

The sensation horribly rejuvenated him, and he was sick of it, watching the bodies fly, blood staining the world around him and screams across the landscape.

 _I'm sorry, but this was destiny._

He cried in the real world, trying to block out these horrifying thoughts but his mind only yearned for more.

 _Make it easier for yourself, and embrace it._

He cried, wailed and let the tears out relentlessly.

 _Embrace the darkness._

And he didn't know what to do—he was so alone and fragile, and there was nothing for him to hold onto, he was helpless against the attack of his own mind.

It was crumbling, tearing itself apart before even nothing would be left, not even it's remnants.

And he could do nothing but let it happen.

To watch it all while he cried silently.

 _For you have already started slipping off the edge._

He knew someone had to say it.

 _Goodbye, my friend._


	3. Chapter 3

A foot touched the scorched, hellish earth.

Their eyes roamed the scenery in front of them and looked at the many ghostly figures laughing, talking and enjoying themselves.

The laughter and talk stopped when he entered though.

He took another step past the gates.

He took the next step deeper into the Underworld.

He took the final step towards Elysium.

The teenager's eyes were hollow and dark, once sea green and now empty of life and hopeless. His body was too skinny for his reputation as the Hero, having gaunt cheeks and visible abs being seen through his ghostly shirt. The tan he usually had had faded away into a pale sense of death.

With every step, eyes from the souls of Elysium turned towards the new intruder who no-one expected.

His murky green eyes lifelessly moved up and several gasps and murmurs were heard.

"Is that Percy?"

"How is he of all people, here?"

"I hope he didn't die painfully…"

"What's happening above then?"

His eyes tightened and fists clenched.

With every sentence and the haunting reminder of his own name, the name of a person who failed to protect those he cherished most, those he kept closest, those he loved with all his loyalty, he felt a part of his soul—whatever was even left—chip away... His eyes met pairs of his past.

He met a pair of baby blue eyes and his mind flashed dark suddenly with a blackout he couldn't hold back.

Silena Beauregard.

" _I didn't see her! How did I not see it was Silena!" he screamed to the heavens, tearing his hair out. A tear leaked out from within._

" _She didn't look anything like Clarisse, gods fucking dammit!" he punched the wall in anger. Tears were building up a wall in his eyes._

" _How did I fail so badly?" He slowed down, lying against the wall. And then fell apart, creating streams of salty tears down his face._

" _How did I not see…?" He sobbed helplessly, drowning in his own guilt and tears._

He clenched his eyes to rid the memory and guilt, trying to choke it down but he only saw soft brown eyes in return. A haze devoured his sight.

Bianca Di'Angelo.

" _How can you think of Mythomagic at a time like this?" He shouted._

 _There were tears in her eyes._

 _Then it was so fast and another minute and "Bianca, no!"_

 _But she wasn't waiting for me._

 _The mechanical foot came down upon her mercilessly._

 _Then the machine malfunctioned and toppled over with Bianca inside—gone._

 _If only he was faster, if only he took her place, if only he just died instead of her._

 _What was the point of him in the world, right?_

Guilt clawed at his stomach, his feelings from the suicide emerging and bubbling. Souls weren't supposed to feel so emotional and attached after death but he knew he wasn't normal anymore; another pair of eyes that belonged to someone that were dark reminded him of the ones of volcanic black. His mind was crushed from another flash.

Zoë Nightshade.

 _The dragon snapped at her side, and Zoë cried out. He ran to her, a sense of despair entrapping his mind but he shook it off._

" _How did I not see that, Thalia?"_

" _It wasn't your fault, she-she wanted to protect us and keep the quest going for Lady—"_

" _But that's not it, is it? I felt it, I could feel the blood falling out and her life draining with every second, my gut was screaming and I didn't act, did I?"_

" _Let it go, she wouldn't—"_

" _Just forget it, it's another failure to add to my long list of reasons I shouldn't exist," he muttered the end, pushing back the tears of regret and listening to the cabin door shut regretfully._

He turned his head away, swallowing tightly to stop bile from ripping his throat apart. Self hatred ate at his insides, but light brown stared at him back and his sight blanked out again into another memory.

Charles Beckendorf.

 _What had happened again?_

 _Beckendorf had pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. He had thought it was a map or something. Then he realized it was a photograph. The son of Hephaestus stared at it in the dim light—the smiling face of Silena Beauregard, daughter of Aphrodite._

 _Resolve had grew within him and using his lies and a mask, he said the biggest lie he could utter._

" _We'll make it back to camp," he had said, clasping his friends shoulder._

 _No, he had_ promised.

 _And what had happened?_

 _His friend was blown with the ship, dead and gone forever, broken apart from a powerful love._

 _Coming home to a distraught girl he couldn't look at._

 _How pathetic..._

His thoughts swirled with every second, hammering away at his sanity.

Wait, what sanity?

He pushed himself away from the memories but he only saw another painful shade of blue eyes.

Luke Castellan.

" _They threw me one quest, and when I came back, it was like 'Okay, ride's over. Have a nice life.'_

" _That's supposed to make me love them?"_

" _You see this scar Percy, I got it from a stupid dragon while doing a quest from my_ father. _" Luke told him while they both breathed after a round of fighting. "I didn't get the Apple, not a word from anyone or anything, just this—" he angrily pointed to the scar across his face, "—this scar that will always be there. The Gods don't care."_

" _They care Luke—"_

 _Luke's eyes flashed and his face turned to one of anger._

" _We both know that they don't Percy. They could not give an absolute damn about our lives. When was the last time your father talked to you?"_

His mind was imploding with the past clawing its way to the surface again. Tears were leaking within his eyes and his face was contorting into pure despair.

Death was supposed to be a moment of enlightenment, to feel free, to forgive but never forget but it didn't feel as so at this moment. All it did was come back as a stronger wave and was breaking him apart without care.

The earth of the underworld felt weird under his feet. Or maybe it was him.

He tried to distract himself yet he saw the dark brown eyes of a certain daughter of love, sadness rooted deep within their depths.

Silena Beauregard.

" _Is it me or does Clarisse look odd?"_

" _No, not really Percy. That looks like Clarisse to me."_

" _It's just… Clarisse said she wouldn't come and I know there is something else to it for her to come just like that, y'know? And look," he had pointed to her posture. "That is so not her."_

" _I know what you mean, but it looks plenty—"_

 _Then a minute slipped by and a Drakon appeared, another Clarisse had sprinted into battle and the fake had been bitten and was dying._

" _I told you Annabeth…" he spoke brokenly, his eyes gazing over the battlefield. "I told you it wasn't her."_

The mind of this broken soul couldn't cope. On the living side, every second scarred him yet here with every breath he took, a knife of emotions cut through within him; bringing out old memories and feelings.

Guilt.

Self-hatred.

Despair.

Within the clutches of his mind, he didn't realise he had gazed at Silena's soul again as his grasp on the realm of the world slowly slipped, until he went slipping off the edge.

He swivelled around to avoid the daunting pairs of eyes yet his own clashed with more.

Two pairs of bright blue eyes belonging to blonde haired teenagers struck a chord.

Michael Yew and Lee Fletcher.

" _Stupid Fates," he cursed to the heavens, his powers being let loose as whips of water condensed around him.._

" _He died. And I—" he cut himself off and screamed, raw power expressing his emotions and collapsing into a heap on the soft sand of the beach._

" _Why am I so selfless?" he asked anyone, praying for an answer while he lay there silently in the wind, holding back the waterfall of pain._

 _But no one ever replied._

He was thrown violently into another timeframe without a second to breath.

" _No… he can't be gone." He told himself as he frantically searched a random area of wreckage in the middle of the night._

 _They told him the son of Apollo was deceased, gone, killed, missing but no one knew how. So he went out and looked through the ruins of the war so far and hoped his friend would be somewhere so he could be fit for a proper burial._

 _It was his sworn duty as a leader to look after the people he leads and protect and respect them..._

 _Then while scouting the waste of the once grand bridge, a glint caught his eye._

 _He darted, hope swelling within his chest at seeing something shine—a reminder of his friend._

 _However, when he pulled it out of the broken bricks, a dim bow was only found. He dug his hands and pulled stones and bricks back effortlessly, scavenging the visibility for any sign of the body who had owned he bow._

 _Then he felt the slack, cold touch of a hand and with trembling hands, felt for a pulse—nothing._

 _How did he die, he had foolishly thought._

 _Then it struck him, this bridge was the one…_

 _No. No, no, no! A cold chill wrapped around him._

… _it was the one_ he _had collapsed to hold back an attack. Michael had given his life—given?_

 _The son of Poseidon had killed him in cold blood, without even thinking of anyone during his rage. Denial and guilt flowed deeply within his heart, rooting itself firmly._

 _What kind of hero and leader was he truly, if he had killed his own friend and failed to protect him?_

His mouth moved yet not a sound came out.

The organ within his skull was on overdrive, processing the several people's faces that latched onto a feeling, that killed whatever was left of him each second.

Everywhere around him, he realised people were hurt, lost and dead because of him.

He couldn't stand seeing the sad look in their eyes, the pity and his own delusional sight of anger and hate within them, burning fiercely. Sights he started to imagine and create to satiate his own feelings.

Sometimes even your own senses deceive you.

He couldn't stand to reside here, with so many faults and regrets weighing him down so heavily he could barely stand. He couldn't breath. His chest tightened. His heart thumped erratically.

There was no point to his existence.

He didn't deserve Elysium.

And that's when he realised ridding himself didn't fix the job well enough. He still stayed within the universe when he wasn't wanted and at fault for so many deaths and problems.

He had a flashback that used to traumatise him but now he had come to accept them.

One of the deep trenches of hell down in Tartarus where there was an opening only so far away. He could feel the pull of it from here, inviting him in.

His lips straightened out and his eyes still held nothing and were hollow. His face became stoic and emotionless once again; the son of Poseidon had only one job to do on his mind, properly this time.

And that was to _truly_ be free.

He took a step away from Elysium.

He took another step nearer to the judgement area.

He took the final step past the gates of Elysium.

Without turning back and holding in everything within this wall he had built, he sprinted away silently.

Behind him, people of his past called out but only two words were heard in the ghostly whispers of the wind.

' _I'm sorry.'_

* * *

Annabeth choked back a sob when she saw it happen, when _he_ slipped off of the edge.

Around her was the nation of the Greek and Roman realm. Hundreds of demigods, hundreds of mythical creatures and hundreds of immortal gods were looking towards a fading screen of horror.

Olympus was deathly silent as they realised the reality of what had occurred. What shook the foundations of the world, wrenched itself into the hearts of many and lay within the minds of all.

They would never forget.

* * *

He slowed down to a stop before a malicious pit.

It seemed to pull in the very darkness and hold the screams of the tortured. Poisonous air slithered it's way through the air and the atmosphere striked at his mind yet only failed against the shards it found.

The remnants of what it once was.

The teenager's daunting face gazed sadly at the flaming hell of the Underworld behind him and clenched his fists and pushed the tears back.

He sat down silently on the edge, his legs dangling off of death which could come at moment since the pull was harshly dragging him towards its void.

" _Why me?"_

Two raspy, empty words yet full of anger, acceptance and sorrow came out of the mouth of this boy.

They echoed across the scorching chamber of blood red.

The colour of the blood he had spilt.

"All I wanted in life was a peaceful life…" he stared up to the ceiling, expecting the sky and he stared. In his mind, he could see the stars, especially the ones which shone brightly every night.

Zoë's… his mouth then formed a slight smirk devoid of any humour.

"Do you understand?" He questioned the constellation he could see. It glowed brightly in the everlasting night sky littered with lights.

"I don't…" he mumbled to himself while bringing his knees up to his chest. "I don't understand why."

Tears pricked his eyes while he tried to handle what was so special about him. His throat shook, trying to contain the sobs that could erupt at any second.

He exhaled a breath of wispy air and sniffled.

"I guess… I've done so much for everyone. I have bled, I have cried, I have given my all for the people I love yet not one of them saw me?" He questioned. "Breaking down in my own shell but I guess I was too selfless to tell them, and to act like something _was_ wrong." He chuckled humorlessly and felt his eyes sting. "How can I ever blame them?"

"Each and every day, I wake up a leader, I train as one, I eat as one and I sleep as one. Only me… everyone else looked up to me as the one who they followed." The cries of Tartarus lowered to distant noises. "Do you know how that feels, Zoë?"

The broken boy whispered to the stars. His murky green irises seemed to dim with each and every word.

"I guess not. Otherwise you wouldn't have died because of me. I was too weak, t-too reckless, too stupid—I was just the worst fucking hero there ever could be!" He shouted in hatred at himself, a word he never thought of using exiting his mouth. "So many lives were lost because of my shitty mistakes. People died. People grieved. And people hurt."

He let the tears effortlessly trail down his face, eyes now rimmed red. "And do you know what I had to do? Pull up a mask and smile, give encouragement, tell them it would all be okay as I led them on to another day closer to their death. I felt—I still feel—so guilty about this all." He admitted in despair, sobs silently leaving him.

"I'm useless…" he continued depressed. "I guess that's why I'm here, stuck in my own mind of insanity. Here on the edge of Tartarus to never return. Ready to literally slip off the edge of this world and leave it all."

He got up and his torn clothes upon his soul ripped more with each movement. The teenager stared at the endless hole in front of him and closed his eyes.

"I just want you to all know that I love you no matter who you are, especially you Mom for all the pain I've ever caused you." He spoke into the wind, stretching his arms out. "And I'm sorry."

And at that very moment, this soul had never looked so more peaceful and majestic than it had ever been so before. His hair rippled in the wind, his face was set into acceptance and stoic. Nothing looked more calm than it did in this young innocent boy, who had been thrown into this cruel world in between wars and gods, deaths and family, friends and pain, only to lose himself in the endless process.

He took a step forward and jumped without a thought.

His soul was on the ground one second then in the next it had flown straight into the depths of hell. He had finally slipped off of the edge.

The world went silent that moment thereafter.

* * *

Never had a person grieved so much that day. Sally Jackson's heart had such a huge wound in it from the biggest loss of her life. Her own beautiful, brave boy had lost himself in this cycle of torture. He had never caused her any pain and it hurt her so much to see him believe that she didn't think he was worth her life.

Friends and other family cried and their actions spoke without the words, be it demigod or not.

Annabeth sat there with a mask on, not wanting to believe, not wanting to see how this ever could logically happen and refused to believe that this was all real; and that Percy would be there, waiting in Elysium.

His closest friends from Piper to Grover to Rachel to Leo mourned together over him, every regret they had coming out and their foundations collapsing for their emotions to just spill out.

Others who had never seen or met him only watched silently, respecting the most honourable, selfless and respectable hero that had ever been born into this world.

Though Zeus paused his speech, maintaining his emotionless façade and strict posture yet he knew that deep down, he felt a small loss of his nephew and grain of guilt for how he helped make his life worse.

But he had to focus and continue and with a deep breath, said his final few words in the grand and new throne room of Olympus that would be remembered for generations.

"As a leader, you have to not only do the right thing, but be perceived to be doing the right thing," he spoke, the room becoming silent.

"A consequence of seeking a leadership position is being put under intense public scrutiny, being held to high standards, and enhancing a reputation that is constantly under threat," he continue, gaze sweeping through the quietly grieving people. And then finished off grimly,

"And that is why our hero slipped off of the edge."

* * *

 **" _If you can't fly, then run,_**

 _ **If you can't run, then walk,**_

 _ **If you can't walk, then crawl,**_

 _ **But whatever you do,**_

 _ **You have to keep moving forward."**_

 **— _Martin Luther King Jr_**


End file.
